Lost Creativity

30 – 09 – 2014
Dear you,

I hope you have recovered from the shock of me not being who you thought I was. Well, to a certain extend I was, I am just a little older, a little greyer, and maybe not as wise for my age as I seemed to be – as I am older than 15, much older – but still quite likeable and still the writer that I was or am, I hope. You may have gathered that my name is Felix Bent, I was born 02-09-1968, which is a pretty good year to be born in if you’d ask me. I guess that I am happy to have been raised in a time without modern technology like mobile phones, Internet, and what have you. If we wanted to talk to each other (even though I wasn’t very talkative) we’d just talked face to face and only the happy few had a Mum or Dad that would let them call someone up over the electric telephone. That is, if they were really lucky or rich, because calling somebody was rather expensive. Not having all that technology was also one of the biggest problems while jotting down my memoirs as Arthur. I had to find a way of not letting it be known that I lived in an era in which mobile phones had not yet been invented, at least not to our knowledge. It was a thing of the future. It was something we saw on Star Trek, but couldn’t dream of having it for real one day. Best thing most of us had were two cans and a piece of string. Do kids still make those?
I said I hoped to still be that writer that I was and used to be. Sometimes I wonder, if age takes away that youthful creativity. To me it seems that a lot of grown-ups have forgotten what it’s like to be a child and to have this world of imagination in which anything and everything is possible. A world in which you can carelessly run about not thinking about what might happen, that feeling of having no responsibilities and thinking that everything is going to turn out alright. Skies can be purple, clouds can be blue and if I say there are three suns orbiting the world, then there are three suns orbiting this tiny little world, because I am not hindered by knowledge and facts. Sometimes I feel that grown-ups have lost that creativity because they have been too busy with acting all grown-up. Some people need to child-down.
Maybe that was what I needed to gain from reading my memoirs and writing down those long forgotten stories here on WordPress: that youthful creativity. I guess I had to relive a little of my childhood to remember what it was like to be that child and get back what was lost in the process of growing up and becoming that responsible adult. And even though my childhood was mostly spent in my room looking at my neighbour Unice and poking fun at her by putting up posters to let her know how I felt about her and her peculiar behaviour, I think it the way that I dealt with that situation was just a great display of what I needed to regain. I think I have found what I needed and hope to continue what I started in more or less the same way I started it: writing. That is it for today … see me tomorrow.

Typically Arthur

Dear friends,

Let me start by saying how much I have missed you and I heard that some of you have been worried sick about me and have missed me, too. That put some tears to my eyes, I can tell you that. Tonight I had a very long and interesting talk with a dear friend of mine. A lady whom I hold in high regard. A woman whom I look up to. She inspired me and encouraged me to tell you the truth about me, about Arthur. Though I have no idea if I am allowed to mention her name here. Just take it from me, she’s an inspiration to us all.
You see, it all started December 2013 while sitting home alone for Christmas for the so manieth year in a row. I wasn’t at all satisfied with my life, but I was too busy pretending everything was right the way it was and nothing could be done about it. But, for some reason, at that moment I felt my thoughts were wrong and that something could and had to be done about it for I had been this socially awkward guy for a long, a very long time. It was time for a change. That was what I decided at that very moment: a change. A change like one of those complete makeovers you see on TV, but this time it would be a personality change and I knew I could do it. It was one of those moments of strength …
In that moment of strength I pulled myself together, got up from my couch (you know, the one that you can hardly get out of), and got busy. As you may have read in my work my home was filled with books, bric-a-bracs, collectables and memorabilia. In other words, it was a mess. I was a mess. There was nothing wrong with me; my body was functioning perfectly well (except for the heart attack I had had that one time, I was perfectly healthy). The problems were in my head. All that stuff I had collected over the years, all those knickknacks and ornaments, I could do without them. Tons of books that were just collecting dust, I didn’t need them. Which was why I started to clean up the house. Call it sublimation for cleaning up the mess in my head, if you will. I started sorting out boxes, cupboards, bookshelves, suitcases and crates I had lying about the entire house. That’s when I stumbled upon some of my old diaries. Books I thought had been torn apart, thrown away, or gotten lost while moving house. I had forgotten about them completely. Well, maybe not forgotten, maybe I just hadn’t thought about them for a very long time. Not only were they well hidden away in my house, they were well hidden away in my mind as well.
Reading through my diaries it struck me that the things I wrote down when I was 14 years of age, were actually quite funny, silly, touching and sometimes a bit saddening. Even though the stories were written some 30-odd years ago I could still place the events in modern times. It seemed to me teenagers nowadays were dealing with the same issues I was dealing with when I was a teenager. As if nothing on this planet had really changed in all those years except for technology. Feelings are universal and timeless. Teenagers have always dealt with and will always deal with the same kind of emotions and feelings and changed all of us have been through. Even though they try their very best to make it clear to everybody their problems are one of kind and that nobody understands them, we do. Maybe more than we are willing to admit and that might just be the problem.
With the aid of my Dutch friend that I came into contact with during one of his many trips to England – it was at the end of December – I decided to take my diary notes, fill in some of the blanks and turn it into the stories you may or may not have read here on WordPress. My Dutch friend supported me, read my work, corrected some bits, gave feedback, and helped me get into contact with more people to help me get over my social issues. He also helped me with my blog and my Facebook, because in those 46 years I had only used my computer for me, myself and I; social media had just passed me by.
When the stories in my diary ended – because Mum and I had to go live with my grandmother – I didn’t know what to write anymore. The diary entries stopped and as for my mind it was a total blank. Repressed memories, I guess, and for the life of me I couldn’t reach them, maybe I just didn’t want to. There I was, stuck and slowly falling back into that old socially awkwardness that I loved so much. My Dutch friend visited me last summer to try to get me back on my feet again. I said I needed a little more time to think about it and he said he’d give me as long as I needed. I feel the time is right. I feel the time is now. So, here goes. Thanks my Dutch friend, for your patience, and thank you woman whose name I cannot mention at this moment, for your words of wisdom and inspiration.
The stories that you read were true, yet the dates were different. The boy was really me, but I am no longer a 15-year-old boy and not called Arthur. My dog Cheddar is no more, but is still dearly missed each and every day. Grandma, is still alive, because – and let me quote Rene Artois here – God does not want the aggravation. Mum and Dad are still happily divorced and as for me … Well, I wrote myself into Arthur’s life as his mentor, his guide through life, the father he wished he had and the friend that he needed. Throughout the stories I have always been there and you all know me. I am Mr Bent, Mr Felix Bent.

Kindest of Regards,

Felix Bent – but you can still call me Arthur, if you like.

Dear Friends of Arthur’s

I have got some very sad news for you. As some of you may know I looked up Arthur during the summer holidays. He had lost an awful lot of weight – on the upside, he now had the body he had always wanted to have – and was not very happy with his current situation. His Mum and he are living with his grandma and it is more or less back to the middle ages at her place. You may remember that the TV was ruined during one of grandma’s parties and she has no internet, neither does she have a very good computer.
Besides that, Arthur is not really in a writing mood. His parents are getting a divorce but for some reason this is taking an awful lot of time. His dad gets to stay in the house and Arthur and his mum get something else, but it’s not yet clear what it is they are getting. Arthur goes to school, comes back home and takes care of his mum and his grandma (the stories here just don’t do her justice, this woman is loopier than most roller coasters I have been on – and I’ve been on quite a few).
He was quite happy to see me and I was quite happy to see him. We spent some time at his favourite tea-shop (Yumchaa) which happens to be my favourite tea shop, too. If you’ve never been there, you should. Get the chocolate velvet cake, too, you will not regret it and come back for more. We walked round camden a bit and talked about his life and his future. This kid is going to go places, eventually, but it will take some time.
I am awfully sorry that I have to be the one to say this, but he’ll not be here for some time. How long is yet unclear, but he and I promise you that he’ll be back as soon as he can and (this is what he said) he’ll be better than ever.

As he was out, I took the liberty of reading some of your reactions to his work and they were simply heartwarming and I can honestly say that you are most likely the closest friends he has got and I think you are amazing people. Here’s a quote from one of my favourite films ‘You are okay in my book’. Two personal messages here:
Dear Katie, thank you very much for mentioning me in your blog, I really thought it was great and I hope to be reading more of you as I have added you on wordpress.
Dear Miss Menopause, I understand that you and Arthur had plans to write a book together. Could you please contact me about this on Facebook? Arthur is still looking forward to that and he said I might be of assistance.

Thank you everybody and kindest of regards,

Mike and Arthur

Flying Saucers

17-07-2014 Thursday

I am awfully sorry. Mike told me people were concerned about me and that you were wondering how I was doing. It made me cry and I have been crying a lot lately, which is also one of the reasons why you haven’t been seeing me around for some time. The crying bit and the fact that I can’t work on the old machine Grandma has lying about and which she thinks of as a computer. It runs on a programme called MS Dos and I can’t seem to figure out just how it works. Grandma has no Internet provider (at least not that she knows of), which doesn’t really matter as this machine wouldn’t be able to connect to any Internet even we wanted to. I think the machine should be exhibited in a museum. Grandma might well be exhibited along with it holding a sign saying ‘Last Of The Dinosaurs’.
Mike has been so kind to post something on my behalf and I am glad he did. At this moment I am at Mr Bent’s house using his brand new computer. At least, it’s brand new to him, but it’s a second hand computer that he got really cheap. I think he got it cheap because it’s still running windows 2000. Which was also the last year this computer was used before Mr Bent started using it. It’s quite obvious that both Grandma and Mr Bent were born before the computer era and have never really succumbed to modern life. I ran to Mr Bent’s place today after hearing about how concerned people were. It really made me happy and I am sorry I haven’t been able to contact any of you.
If you read Mike’s post you’ll know that my parents are getting a divorce. After Evelyn and I broke up it felt like a lot was in the air, but it wasn’t love, most of the time it was plates, vases, glasses and other breakable stuff and, for a change, I was not the one breaking them. Mum and Dad were fighting most of the time and throwing these things at walls, floors and sometimes each other (no one got hurt, luckily). At one point Mum just couldn’t take it anymore and went to Grandma’s. After a week, just when I thought she’d be coming back because no one can stay longer at Grandma’s than that, I decided to join her. This really says something about the way things were at ‘home’. When living at Grandma’s seems better than living at ‘home’, something must be awfully wrong. It was and still is.
Dad is a workaholic, which might be just as bad as being an alcoholic, the alcoholic he might well become one day sooner or later the way he’s been drinking of late. Dad was gone most of the time and got home late from ‘work’. I am still wondering which boss lets you drink so heavily on the job as he usually came home smelling of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. I had to take care of everything in the house, while trying to finish the last days of school. When Dad was at home he was usually in no condition to take care much of anything, not even himself.
Right in the middle of writing that piece Mike posted yesterday Dad came home drunk again and started shouting and screaming incomprehensible things. I really couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. I had never heard so many curse words come out of anybody’s mouth, not even Mr Bent’s. My vocabulary has grown a lot since Mum and Dad have been fighting, though I don’t think my teachers are going to be pleased when I use any of these words at school. I shall refrain from using them till I find a suitable time and place.
Mr Bent has just entered the room with a nice hot cup of my favourite tea. I am awfully sorry to not have posted anything for such a long time and I will ask Mr Bent if it is okay if I pop in every now and again to post something. I miss you. I miss you a lot. I miss writing. I miss my house. I miss a lot. I think it might just help me to get through this not so pleasant phase of my life writing about, but I am in no condition to write. I’d rather write when I am in a better mood. I guess this is also part of life. Thank you very much for your concern and I hope I can talk to you soon. And please, feel free to add Mike on facebook. He’s visiting me next week and I am sure you’ll love him as much as I do.

Kindest of regards,

Arthur Didymus

Letter To Arthur’s Friends

Dear Arthur’s Friends,

My name is Mike and I am posting this on behalf of Arthur. I helped Arthur out writing his book and he always sent his writings to me to proofread them. Here’s the last bit he wrote on 16 June 2015. It’s all I have at this very moment. I hope to be seeing him next week when I am visiting England. He has got some great friends here, I’ll tell him that. Here’s the last bit he wrote:

Anybody out there willing to take care of a lovely little boy and his dog for a week or two, maybe longer, depending on how this situation develops. Mum and Dad had been fighting for a week over whether there was going to be a cat or not. I said that maybe we should start out with half a cat and see how it goes. But they didn’t really want to listen to my ideas. Even dressing up Cheddar as a cat wasn’t an idea worth listening to. I even offered to design the outfit myself to save costs. Mum has been staying at Grandma’s place since yesterday. She’ll be back soon; nobody can live at Grandma’s for more than a week.

I am very sorry, but this is the last bit of writing he sent me. Hopefully, he’ll be posting again soon. I know he misses you and he misses being able to write as it was more or less the only thing he had going for him. On the upside, his book has been proofread by me and a friend of mine and we both laughed our heads off. I sure hope it’s going to be published one day, but that’s all up to Arhtur, I guess. Thank you very much for your concern and I hope he’ll be contacting you personally very soon.

Kind regards,

Mike Michels – on behalf of Arthur.

Everybody Wants To Be A Cat

11-06-2014 Wednesday

Mum wants to buy a cat. Has she lost her mind!? We’ve got a dog. A small one, but a dog nonetheless. What if they can’t stand each other? What if I’m allergic? What if the dog is allergic? Cats are aliens to me. I have no idea how to deal with them. They are from a totally different planet. Why would she want to have a cat anyways? Hairs! Hairs everywhere. I told Mum this was just a phase she was going through. ‘This, too, shall pass,’ I said to her. Dad tried to talk her out of it by saying he’d like a new car, too. I didn’t see how that was going to help our case, but Dad thought there was some kind of logic to it. Mum didn’t budge.
It’s not that I have anything against having a cat as a pet; it’s just that I don’t see why. There are two kinds of people in this world: dog lovers and all the others. I belong to the dog lovers and I see no reason for any cat to set foot in castle Didymus. I don’t think, however, that Dad and I have got any say in this. Mum is more or less in charge in this house, even though Dad thinks he is in charge and his only claim to fame is that he brings home the bacon. Mum’s reply to this is that she always does all the shopping and has never seen Dad come home with any bacon. Unless you count that one time he brought home a friend who looked like the male counterpart of Miss Piggy. He even sounded like her.
Mum asked me if I knew a good name for the cat. All I could come up with was,’ Sushi, Pizza, Anchovy, Pork Chop, and Salad. I even said that I could understand if she didn’t want to name the cat after food, that is why I also   She didn’t like the names at all and then turned to Dad. He said he’d like to give the cat an Amerindian name, like ‘Standing Bull’ or ‘Sitting Bear’. Mum said she’d come up with a name of her own. I think it would be best for her and the cat if she did. The cat might just get a decent name. As you will understand I named the dog.
So, if I you don’t hear from me all of a sudden, I may just have fled to another country or at least to another house. I heard Mr Bent’s got a spare bed, and I might just be needing it. Which reminds me that I have go round his place this week, because I haven’t heard or seen him for quite some time and I don’t want the newspapers to read something like,’ Dead Guy Found Rotting After 8 Weeks – Neighbours Never Noticed’.

See me tomorrow. 

Clowns Lie

08-06-2014 Sunday (Whitsun)

Mum and I went on another shopping spree and it was totally wicked. We went to Camden and this is really special, because Mum hates it there. Well, actually, hated, because she seemed to be enjoying herself yesterday. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. And we even bought a great pair of jeans there and a very cool hat sort of thingy.20140609_090126-1

I won’t be allowed to wear it at school, but I think I’m going to wear it a lot in my leisure time. Shopping really cheered me up a lot. Dad had a great surprise for Mum when we got home. Even though he didn’t have to he did all the chores that were on Mum’s list. He had even made a great dinner. Well, Mum and I both suspect him of having ordered it and then presenting it as if it was homemade. Actually, we were pretty sure, Mum found some of the boxes in the bin outside. She didn’t say anything about it, though. I did.

Mum said,’ Wow, honey, you’ve really outdone yourself.’

Dad (stammering a little),’ Yeah, I found one of your cookbooks, and I though it looked really easy.’

Me,’ Ohw, you mean the Yellow Pages!?’

Stephanie told me that breaking up with Evelyn might just inspire me to write great things. Here’s an even that was really inspiring (maybe it was the combination of the event and the break-up). While walking through the city last yesterday Mum and I saw this really creepy looking street artist dressed as a clown. He called himself ‘the Great Zucchini’. He wasn’t that great though. From the looks of it he had drunk too much and the only thing funny about him was that he kept falling off of his unicycle. It looked to me as if he had come straight from a horror film. Mum told me the clown reminded her of the book ‘It’ by S. King. She said she has never been able to finish it, because it is dead scary. I haven’t read the book and if this clown resembled the clown from the book, I’m not going to read it either.
After he had given up trying to ride his unicycle he started a juggling act. He couldn’t even keep one ball in the air, let alone five. It was pathetic. Then he said he was going to drink some of his ‘magic water’, because that would probably make things go better. His so-called magic water looked more like booze to me and it smelled like it, too. I have no idea why we kept watching. Maybe we were somehow waiting for a trick to go right for a change. He held five balls in his hands, three in one and two in the other. He was building up tension by pretending to throw them up in the air, a radio behind him was playing Oh Fortuna, he murmured something about being the best juggler in the world and when he felt that the tension had reached a maximum he threw all five balls high up in the air at the same time. He caught none.

All this inspired me to write the following. It’s called Clowns Lie.

So bored by the faces
I know what they’ll do
The world will be laughing
They haven’t a clue
Just a few; happy few
Know the truth; they know why
I’m not laughing but sobbing
For clowns they all lie

Clowns they lie

Enough of the laughter
What’s wrong with the show
Some may find it funny
I’ve got class, don’t you know
Just a bunch have a hunch
What’s cramping their style
‘Cause clowns have been know
For all of their lies for quite a while

Clowns they lie

Come down here to float
They all float down here
On a bottle of whisky
On a bottle of beer
Come down here to lie
They all lie down here
On a bottle of whisky
On a bottle of beer

Now there’s a universal truth
That you just can’t deny
One day you will find out
That clowns they all lie
Just a few know it’s true
They can tell by the nose
It’s red from the booze
‘Cause that’s how it goes

Clowns they lie

 

Good night and see me tomorrow.

When You’re Alone (And Life Is Making You Lonely)

07-06-2014 Saturday

Thanks everybody for your lovely and inspirational words, they really meant a lot to me. You’ve made a teenager with a broken heart smile and realise that there are so many beautiful people out there and that worse things happen at sea. Evelyn doesn’t seem to be sad, so why should I!? I am not the only one nor the first one suffering from a broken heart and this may well be a good lesson in life for me.
Mum is taking me shopping today to cheer me up. It is supposed to be a sunny day and a good day for going out to shop till we drop. Dad is not coming. At breakfast Mum said to him quite scornfully, ‘You are not coming, today, you’re staying in to make yourself useful for a change. Here’s a list of household chores that need to be done. And I expect them to be done by the time we get home.’ Dad looked at her the way Cheddar often does after it’s been told off for doing something wrong. He knows perfectly well that his remark yesterday was below the belt and Mum really showed him who’s boss.
I’m getting ready to leave, Mum said she wanted to get there early and start off having tea somewhere downtown. That’s when she started singing Petula Clark’s ‘Downtown’. For some reason it’s very difficult to resist singing along to this song so I joined in. Dad ran for cover. I’m sure that had he not done so, he would have joined in as well; probably against his will, but he would have done so nonetheless. Now, thanks to Mum, that song has been stuck in my head all morning.
Dad walked in to apologise for his remark yesterday. I’m glad I was decent. Parents always have a way of walking in while you are just getting dressed or undressed. Luckily for the both of us I was just packing my bag with some food and drinks for the road. Anyways, I think Mum put him up to it. I think it was either apologise to me or do all the household chores she told him to do. He still won’t be coming along with us, though. First of all Dad is not the shopping kind of guy. Secondly, he has to stay home with Cheddar, and last but not least: Mum is still kind of angry with him.

That’s it, I’m off. Have a great day everybody and thank you very, very much. See me tomorrow. 

Gee, I’m Glad It’s Raining

06-06-2014 Friday

I have been more or less crying my eyes out for the past three days. I feel somewhat better today at least okay enough to write about it. Evelyn and I broke up three days ago. She said she felt it was time to part, because things have changed. Don’t ask me which things, she wouldn’t tell me. It does not look like she is having a hard time dealing with it. She’s been quite her normal self, if you’d ask me. On Monday everything seemed quite normal to me and then on Tuesday she suddenly ended it all.
When I came to school last Tuesday Evelyn was kind of standoffish. Normally we give each other a little kiss and a hug, but this time: nothing. All she said was,’ Can we talk after school?’ in a kind of weird way. It was not her normal way of speaking, but I couldn’t really make out what was different and what it was supposed to mean. Women are such a mystery to me. I’ve been thinking about reading that book called Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus, maybe that could help me understand things better.
Evelyn is kind of avoiding me and she constantly hangs around with this guy called Zack. Worst thing is, the two of them are sitting at what used to be OUR table! I guess it’s now their table. I don’t need a table anyways, because I kind of lose appetite when I see her. Actually, I have lost my appetite in general. It feels like I’ve lost about as much weight in the last three days as I did last month. Breaking up is a very fast way of losing weight; I bet it’s not really a healthy way. My appetite will come back soon, I bet, and it will probably bring reinforcements, too.
Mum has been really supportive. Dad has been … Dad. First thing he said when Mum told him (I didn’t tell him, and I think you’ll understand why when you read his reaction),’ Looks like you’re going to die a virgin after all, son.’ Mum was mad at him for saying that. I couldn’t really be mad, because I was too busy feeling sad. This is where Mum made me some tea and Dad hid behind his newspaper. From the looks of things Mum wanted to throw one of the teacups at him, but decided not to when she realised she had gotten them from Grandma as a birthday present years ago. I would have thrown one if I were Mum.
Hopefully this will pass soon, because it has surely affected my writing skills. It took me a long time to write just a couple of paragraphs. Ohw, I don’t know about you, but I always like to listen to gloomy songs when I feel like this (which isn’t very often). Here’s one of my favourite songs I listen to in times like this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqjUC8tDH9s.

See me tomorrow. Hopefully. 

Board Games and Coffee Stains

02-06-2014 Monday 

Thank God I’m back. I had to stay at Grandma’s during the weekend and I got back this afternoon and lordy, lordy am I glad to be home. How did Grandpa manage to live with this woman? Ohw, that’s right, he didn’t. Dad says Grandpa died because he didn’t want the agony of living with Grandma any longer. Dad’s a (bad four letter word).
I had forgotten to bring my pyjamas so Grandma made me sleep in one of her nightdresses. At times like these I am just so happy that she can’t handle a camera and does not know how the Internet works. She’s one of those people who goes to a computer shop and says things like,’ I’d like one Internet, please’ and then she’d add,’ It’s ‘taking out’ so I’d like some portable wifis with that, too, please.’ Anyways, it was one of those old smelly nightdresses, totally worn, a little torn and it was covered in weird looking brown-ish, stains and a couple of white-ish ones. Don’t ask, please … don’t ask and don’t even think about it.
Before I went away Evelyn asked me where Grandma lived, I told her that it wasn’t a matter of ‘where’; it was a matter of ‘when’. Grandma still thinks she’s living in the 70s; sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Two of those things are not things you’d want to know about your own granny. She showed me some pictures of herself in the 70s. She was young, smoking, drinking and surrounded by men. Basically nothing’s has changed over all those years, but for her age. Really, I have no idea why it is that she is still surrounded by so many men and that there are these weird looking stains on her nightdress.
I’m not going to go into too many details about the weekend at the moment, there’s just one thing I’d like to say now. Grandma is one of the biggest cheaters in the world when it comes to playing board games. Never in my life have I seen anybody so bad at losing that she’s willing to cheat at anything, everything! Not only that, she also mixes up all the rules and I have no idea whether she does it on purpose or whether it’s one of those things that come with old age. She kept saying ‘check mate’ while playing a game of checkers. When we switched to chess (I thought I was bad at this game) she kept saying it was her turn to throw the dice and she wanted to buy Kings Cross Station and Euston Road. Halfway through the game I noticed that she was trying to put a bishop of hers back on the board. She had somehow managed to take it from me when she was handing me a biscuit. Never take biscuits from old lady ladies, kids!
Grandma read me a bedtime story, which was kind of cute. Well, the intention was cute. She picked up the book from the desk in her room. I believe she thought it was the bible, and although it had a black cover, it was far from the bible. I think Grandma had thrown away the dust cover and I think she had done so for a reason. The book was not meant for my ears and I am not going to say anything about what was in the book, suffice to say that this was a lot more informative than biology class. I didn’t tell this to my parents; Mum would probably kill Grandma over this. Dad would probably laugh his head off and go round Grandma’s to ask for the title of the book. Dirty old man. So, this was my weekend in short. Hope you had a nice one, maybe even nicer one. See me tomorrow.